


'Tis the Season

by slashedsilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s), Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashedsilver/pseuds/slashedsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A misunderstanding during the war ended a tentative relationship between Draco and Harry. Five years later, will a chance encounter be what they need to find love again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This was written last year for [slythindor100](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com)'s advent challenge and will be edited as I post for better flow. This story is complete and I aim to post a chapter a day until Christmas Day.
> 
> Features one of my favourite tropes: post-war, down-on-his-luck!Draco.

It was a brutally cold night.

Clutching his hands to himself, Draco breathed on them in a vain attempt to warm them up. It was impossible.

His gloves, one of the few items he'd salvaged from the acquisition of the Manor, were threadbare from repeated washing. There was no point performing cleaning spells with his Ministry-issue wand -- they were erratic at best, and very often a fraction of the strength they should have been if cast with his old wand. Draco supposed it was still with Potter. He didn't know for sure; the Chosen One had never bothered to contact him after the war ended.

To be fair, Draco had very effectively vanished after the war. There had been no need to advertise how low the Malfoys had fallen; it was better to just take himself off the map as he regrouped and learned to navigate the rules of this brave new world. It had taken many months of proving that he was capable of working hard with head down and mouth shut at St Mungo's before he was finally taken on as Assistant to the Resident Caretaker. It was the lowest life form in the hospital but it paid the bills, or so he had to remind himself on particularly bad days.

Making his way to the Apparition point, Draco braced himself, pulling out his pathetic excuse for a wand. He spun on his heel and uttered the Apparition spell. Nothing happened. Draco supposed he should have counted himself lucky that he hadn't Splinched himself.

With a sense of resignation, he stuck out his wand and hailed the Knight Bus. For all of its indignities, it would at least ensure that he got home safely.

~*~

"Malfoy. Hey, you -- Malfoy! Help out with the Christmas decorations, would you?"

Draco bristled as he scooped out another bed pan. Was he the only one who ever had to do actual work around here? Everyone else (with _actual jobs_ ) just seemed to be doing anything but what they were being paid to do. "What's the occasion?"

"Besides Christmas?" came the sarcastic reply. The bespectacled young man brandished the pair of gaudy baubles like they held the obvious answer. "Well..." he scrunched up his forehead and pretended to think hard. " _I don't know._ "

Draco gritted his teeth. So now even the interns had learned that they could get stroppy with him.

"I meant why are we actually decorating the wards this year?" he said, forcing himself to sound polite. "Haven't we always just gotten by with a Christmas tree in the visitors' tearoom?"

"Haven't you heard?" the intern said with exaggerated shock. (No of course he hadn't, seeing as no one exchanged news with _him_ over coffee in the break room.) "Harry Potter's making a visit to St Mungo's today."

Draco felt his heart drop. Funny how the mention of Potter's name could still affect him after all these years.

The intern levitated one of the baubles up to the wall. "Word is that he's got something to check out, all important Iike." He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "My Galleon's on that someone close to him has checked into Spell Damage or Potions and Plant Poisoning. Not that anyone's going to admit that, mind." He cast another spell and the coil of green tinsel started to uncurl, slithering up against the wall to hang in limp loops.

Draco recovered enough to make a suitable reply. "And you think he's going to drop by Janus Thickey while he's touring St Mungo's? No one ever comes here."

The intern looked offended. "Well, it's always good to cover all bases. That's what Healer O'Rorke always says, you know."

"Right before she doses her patients with every single potion she's ever come across," Draco muttered. He bent down to clear the next bed pan. "Lucky for me they don't treat ex-Death Eaters here." 

"Good to see that you've got the same sunny disposition as ever, Malfoy."

Draco froze, then straightened slowly. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. "Potter." 

The green eyes which met his gaze were inscrutable. "Hello again."

Harry looked well. There was not a trace of that haunted, terrified look that had started to plague his gaze towards the middle of the war. Even though they'd been on different sides, Draco had kept desperate tabs on Harry, afraid that they would meet in a tussle or a skirmish, and he would have to draw his wand on him -- or worse, that Harry would meet a Death Eater that was just too unpredictable, too cruel, just a split second too fast for him. Draco had vowed that this would never happen. Not as long as he was there.

So he'd faithfully scouted out locations, plans, ambushes, insinuating himself into them, risking discovery and the wrath of his parents... up until he'd realised there had never been the need to. Harry hadn't felt the same way he did about their relationship -- as though it were something special, worth protecting. Harry was more than willing to throw it all away once Draco was out of sight and out of mind.

Like a faded photograph, once a memory of a cherished time, now dusty and forgotten.

A sudden bitterness curled Draco's lip into a sneer. "Fancy meeting you here."

The corners of Harry's lips quirked into a smile. "I didn't know you worked here."

It was a simple statement, but Draco was alarmed at the hurt he felt at it. Even though he knew it was just an offhand remark -- the kind you might make to an acquaintance you weren't quite familiar with. Unaccountably, that hurt, too.

"I wouldn't have expected that you did." It came out sounding more rough and raw than the cool, distant tone Draco had been aiming for, and he winced in embarrassment.

Harry seemed to realise his discomfort, and he scratched the back of his head in the self-deprecating motion which was still painfully familiar to Draco. "Sorry, that came out wrong." He coughed slightly and shifted a bit.

Somewhere behind Harry, the intern was watching their conversation avidly, though he pretended to be engrossed in hanging Christmas decorations. Draco shot him a frosty glare, but he merely shrugged and pointed exaggeratedly at the bauble in his hand. These interns, there'd been too many of them recently...

"...dinner some time?"

"What?" Draco said, distracted.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Harry's face. "I said, it's been a while since we caught up. Do you want to do dinner together some time?"

Draco gaped. "Dinner?"

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed, apparently relieved. He jerked his hand up as though to grasp Draco's in a firm handshake or maybe clap him on the shoulder, but then he awkwardly retracted it before it made contact. Draco watched it in confusion.

"Well, I was thinking Wendell's at first -- " and pictures of the posh wizarding restaurant flashed through Draco's head, completely at odds with the image he had of Harry -- "but I'd recently outfitted my kitchen again, and I've been meaning to try it out. What do you say to coming over to my place?"

Harry apparently took Draco's slack-jawed expression as consent because he laughed, a bit too heartily, and pressed a slip of paper into Draco's hands.

"That's settled then. Saturday?"

And before Draco could demand to know what Harry thought he was doing, waltzing in and making odd requests like that, Harry had fled.


	2. Chapter 2

For the next few days after the strange encounter, Draco mulled over the strange piece of paper, which, for reasons he didn't want to face, he had kept in his pocket. He pulled it out from time to time to study Harry's surprisingly careful scrawl. Underneath the address, neatly penned, was the date and time of dinner as though he'd been prepared, even before they'd met, to invite Draco to dinner.

"Or to invite _someone_ to dinner, at the very least," Draco muttered, scrubbing his face with his hands. It was late Saturday afternoon, and steadily advancing towards the time on the invitation. Maybe he'd just been a convenient choice. Maybe Harry was lonely, and had wanted someone to accompany him for dinner. Maybe he had decided to give the slip of paper to the first person he could convince to come over. Maybe he'd honestly just been looking for someone test out his new cooker on.

Draco uttered a frustrated curse and smoothed his fingers over the slip of paper again. It was late Saturday afternoon and the only alternative was dinner alone, at his table for one, pretending he didn't want to see Harry again, that he wasn't burning with curiosity to find out why Harry Potter had invited him for dinner.

He lunged for the Floo powder.

Which was how he ended up, ten minutes before six, standing in Harry Potter's bachelor pad after being spit out by the Floo. The place was dark; maybe Harry hadn't returned yet. He registered vague surprise that Harry would leave his Floo unlocked, but his attention was quickly diverted to the table in front of the fireplace. It was laden with mouth-watering dishes, almost brimming over with food, as though Harry had been absolutely sure he would come.

He was inclined to feel insulted by this but he caught sight of the plate of carefully baked gingerbread cookies and forgot to care. He drew closer to the cookies with something approaching awe. They had to be freshly baked. The spicy scent of the ginger and the sweet aroma of the biscuit were wafting out deliciously from the plate, tendrils of temptation calling out to him. Draco felt himself weakening. It would be rude, but -- surely Harry wouldn't notice if he popped just one of them into his mouth. Just one.

Before he was fully conscious of moving, the spicy tang was melting on his tongue and he was closing his eyes to fully savour the taste. It was heaven. He reached out for another one.

"Still spoiling your dinner by starting with the desserts first?"

Draco thought he might have a heart attack. He whipped around, just barely managing to keep himself from choking on a crumb of gingerbread that went down the wrong way.

"Potter!" he snapped, coughing a little. "Haven't you learned anything about sneaking up on people like that?"

Harry, standing with two wine glasses balanced awkwardly in his hand, had the grace to look somewhat abashed. "Sorry. I'd forgotten how much you hate sudden surprises."

"It's fine," Draco muttered.

Harry's words seemed out of place -- calling back a memory of a time when they had been much closer, when they could read miles into each other's expressions, anticipating instinctively what the other was going to say or how he might react. Draco forced himself to shove that nostalgia away. It was inappropriate, given the way it had ended.

Harry was watching him curiously but didn't comment on Draco's change in expression. "Here," he said instead. "Would you care for some wine?"

Draco regarded the bottle with all the calmness of a prisoner examining a vial of poison. A ticket for escape.

"Sure," he agreed at last. He would need all the fortification he could get to make it through that evening.

Surprisingly, Draco reflected, hours after he was safely home again, dinner had been a comfortably relaxed affair.

After they'd eaten the generous spread of food that Harry had prepared (and Draco assured him that his new cooker was working just fine -- more than fine, in fact, if he were entirely honest), they sat in front of the Christmas tree in Harry's living room, and -- talked. It had felt wonderfully domestic.

Though Draco had been wary at first, the dinner and the wine had loosened him up. It certainly didn't help that sitting in close proximity to Harry on the couch had unlocked feelings he thought he'd long tucked away. Harry was careful, polite and attentive. There had been none of the nervousness he'd glimpsed at St Mungo's.

By unspoken agreement, neither of them had been willing to break the easy atmosphere by bringing up the past. Draco supposed it was a topic for another time. If they ever met again.

A sudden tapping sounded at his window and the sound of rustling feathers against the glass alerted Draco to his post.

"Mail, at this time of the night?"

The owl carried an envelope and a small paper bag. Curiously, Draco opened the envelope first, pulling out the piece of parchment inside. Two tickets fell out, slightly creased from the handling. 

The letter said: "Malfoy -- I packed you a little something for dessert, since you liked them so much. Also, if you're up to it, would you like to catch Puddlemere United in their first Quidditch match of the season with me? I got these priority tickets, and thought it'd be nice if we could go together. H.P."

Draco's heart started beating faster. Placing the letter aside, he reached for the paper bag. Inside were a dozen gingerbread cookies.

~*~

A week later, they went for the match.

Draco spent the two and a half hours torn between delirious excitement at attending his first Quidditch game in years and confused exhilaration at the way Harry sat just a little too close to him, their knees and thighs and arms bumping, laughing at all his snide remarks and rude comments and cracking some rather outrageous jokes himself.

In retrospect, he thought, it was almost the same thing.

"So that was relatively painless, wasn't it?" Harry said optimistically as they exited the Quidditch stadium.

The air was crisp and the ground was covered with a new blanket of snow, which must have fallen as they were inside the weatherproof stadium. The whiteness of the snow shone off Harry's face and made him glow against the brilliantly blue sky. It was almost enough to distract Draco from the absolutely appalling match they'd just witnessed. Almost.

He snorted. "If you're talking about Wilkinson's pathetic attempt to distract the Holyhead Keeper by balancing a Bludger on his head, I'd have to disagree. That has got to be one of the more ghastly Quidditch accidents I've ever had the misfortune to witness. And don't get me started on the Seeker! Weaving around the hoops like she was drunk. Honestly."

"Well, there's that," Harry admitted, "but I was kind of referring to the outing as a whole. It was relatively painless coming here with me, wasn't it?"

Draco's eyes met Harry's. "There is that."

Draco's admission seemed to open a dam.

Harry took to springing in on him at St Mungo's at odd times. Somehow, he seemed to know exactly what hours Draco worked. He would be in the waiting room to take Draco out for a drink when his shift ended, or he'd drop by at lunchtime with takeaway meals, so that even Draco was hard-pressed to miss a lunch break. Draco had to admit that he was eating better than he had in months. The staff at St Mungo's had started to notice -- some of them whispering and making snide comments. Never to Harry, of course. But they didn't have the same qualms about airing their opinions in front of Draco.

Draco would have been more concerned if he hadn't already tried to tactfully point out to Harry the rumours that would spring up from him openly displaying his connection to an ex-Death Eater. Harry had studied him with an unflinching gaze, and asked if Draco was worried about the backlash he might receive from the rumours. Shaken by Harry's unexpected calm, Draco had stammered a denial.

"Then it doesn't bother me either," Harry had stated with finality, and that had been the end of that.

Even though Draco was loathe to admit it, there was a warm feeling of pleasant surprise that curled in his stomach every time he walked down those ugly stairs to the waiting room at St Mungo's to see the mop of messy hair in the chair beside the lone Christmas tree. No matter how many times it happened, he wasn't able to stop that sudden rush of excitement in his stomach whenever he saw Harry.

Sometimes Harry would be snoozing on that chair, with a tiredness that made Draco wonder what Harry did when he wasn't staking out Draco's workplace.

Other times, he would be waiting with a ready smile that simultaneously melted Draco's insides and made his heart clench painfully. He didn't know how long it would last. How long would he be able to count on this feeling?

And there was a slew of unanswered questions. What was Harry working towards? Was this an attempt to find penance, to give an old relationship closure before he moved on to another one? Was he just curious about what Draco was doing in St Mungo's, keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't accidentally poison someone with a poorly cleaned set of crockery?

The biggest question of all was one that Draco dared not give voice to, because it was one he could not answer: Was he falling for Harry all over again, and could he extricate himself as easily as he had before?

Two days later, as though the very act of doubting were a curse in itself, everything went to pieces.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken a while, but Draco had finally scrimped together enough to purchase his first textbook on healing. It was nothing fancy, just a basic introduction to wizard physiology and the magical maladies which affected it. More significantly, it was a book that all Healers-in-training would need to refer to in their first year of studies. Though Draco could not, at this point, foresee that he would ever be accepted into Healer training with his record, there was no one who could stop him from reading up and practicing some of the wandwork on his own.

Armed with his collection of Sickles and Knuts, Draco chose a time when human traffic would be the least before he entered Diagon Alley. He would never be able to prevent the public vitriol against him, but he could very well minimise his chances of being spat at or hexed. Sneaking into Flourish and Blotts with his hooded cloak and a shoddy Glamour covering his distinctive Malfoy hair, he didn't bother to remove his cloak, but made directly for the section of books on Ailments and Cures.

For years after that, Draco would wonder what would have happened if he had chosen another bookstore to purchase his book from, or if Perfidious Wigglecombe hadn't thrown that last tantrum just before Draco had ended his shift, resulting in him having to stay about an hour more to calm the hysterical old man down. If he had left on time, he would have been in and out before any of this happened.

Instead, Draco located his book just minutes before closing, and was about to head to the cashier when he heard his name being spoken.

"...charity for Malfoy."

Uncomprehending, Draco clutched his book to his chest.

"Explains why Harry's spending so much time with him all of a sudden. I expect he feels guilty, you know. For playing him during the war."

Pressing himself back against the stacks, Draco's heartbeat seemed to thunder in his ears.

"Oh?" the second voice seemed to perk up with interest. "Harry told you that?"

The first person snorted. "He didn't need to -- everyone knew it. He was so lovesick over Malfoy during the months leading up to the war; it was revolting to watch. It was a good thing Harry was able to end the charade by the time the real fighting started."

"So it was a love potion?"

"More like a carefully devised Order ploy. It worked, didn't it? Malfoy went belly-up on the details of the planned Death Eater raids. Even by the time the owls and Floo Network stopped working, we had enough to minimise losses." A laugh. "I'd always figured Malfoy was someone who would spread his legs easily. Something about that uptight personality of his -- you just need to get past the prickly exterior and he'd be ripe for the picking. But honestly, to lose his heart to the first person who showed interest in him? That's just bordering on desperate."

"Isn't Harry with the Aurors now? That sort of covert ops during the war must have placed him in good standing for the job."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's investigating something right now... ex-Death Eaters, perhaps."

Their raucous laughter mixed with the noisy jangling of the chimes at the door, fading gradually as their feet clattered out into the winter's night.

Back in the bookstore, Draco's fingers were grasping his book so tightly they had started to tingle. The interior of the bookstore was hot -- almost claustrophobically so. But there was nothing that could warm up a heart that had gone cold.

~*~

There were a few things that had kept Draco doggedly pressing on after the war. Knowing that he had to single-handedly redeem the Malfoy name, for one. A bull-headed determination to prove himself. The need to earn enough to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. In reverse order of importance.

So he went on life as he had before, keeping his head down, eyes fixed on his work. There was no reason that the re-entrance of Harry Potter should upheave his life in any way.

Not even the revelation that what they'd had together had been a sham. 

Draco's hands shook, and he forced himself to take off his cleaning attire calmly, changing back into his normal robes. It was the end of his shift. Potter might be waiting downstairs. He had successfully ignored all of Potter's owls and managed to avoid running into him at St Mungo's. Draco could keep this up. Until Potter finally got tired of him, and found someone else to play his games with. As for his heart -- well, it would learn that it was safer encased in ice. It didn't need to be cajoled by a pair of deceptively earnest green eyes, or let warm, comforting hands take its guards down one by one.

Draco shut his locker, and took the side exit.

Just as he was about to leave the building, Draco paused to shrug on his coat -- and was suddenly stopped by a firm hand to his arm. He didn't need to turn around to know that it belonged to Potter. The grip was too familiar.   
Even knowing that, he couldn't stop the way his body thrummed with anticipation and excitement at having Potter so close again. Even knowing what he'd done.

"Malfoy," Potter said, and his voice behind Draco was tense and worried. "Is something wrong? I haven't seen you in ages."

Draco shut his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the stirring in his heart.   
When he turned to face Harry, his expression was bland. "I wasn't aware I needed to report my whereabouts to you. _Auror_ Potter."

Potter recoiled, then winced. "Is this about not telling you about my job? Because I didn't want you to misunderstand -- "

"It's too late for that, isn't it?" Draco bit out, more bitterly than he intended. "It's too late for anything." The sudden outburst left them staring at each other in the night, illuminated only by the street lamps and the glow of light that was St Mungo's. 

"What happened?" Potter's voice was calm, apparently aiming for soothing. _He's probably used to dealing with highly strung suspects,_ Draco thought, and that unleashed the memory of the conversation he had overheard in Flourish and Blotts all over again.

Giving Potter one last poisonous glare, Draco wrenched his arm from his grasp, and strode determinedly down the road, if only to put distance between them. Should he try for the Knight Bus again? What if Potter followed him? Did he dare risk Apparition? He hadn't tried it in years, not believing that his wand had enough power to launch him to another point. But still --

He veered towards the Apparition point and drew out his wand, but a sudden burst of speed had Potter catching up with him and roughly knocking his hand out of position.

"Stop it!" Potter hissed. "You're going to Splinch yourself."

It was the fear in Potter's voice that stopped him now, and he regarded Potter uncomprehendingly.

"Those wands. They're not authorised for Apparition."  
"What do you mean?" Draco said, shaken. "They didn't tell us anything like that when they issued us the wands."

"Probably because the Ministry was hoping something irreparable would happen," Harry said darkly. "It was their way of preventing ex-Death Eaters from fleeing the country. Because how would they keep tabs on you otherwise?"

Draco dropped his wand hand uselessly to his side, suddenly feeling very old and tired. He had known that there had been some rumblings of unhappiness with the pardon of the Death Eaters after the war. There had been violent disagreements about the severity of the punishments that should be meted out, and the only reason Draco had escaped the Kiss was probably because one Hermione Granger, bolstered by a reputation for insight and wise decisions during the war, had actively spoken up against what she saw as a barbaric and unnecessarily cruel sentence.  
It had been too late for his father, though. 

And now it seemed like it was too late for Draco as well. Too late to undo the mistakes of the war. Too late to make amends. The wizarding world had already passed its judgment. It seemed like everyone was waiting on the wings, waiting for him to fall again. Even Harry.

"Come on." There was a tentative tug on his arm, a question. "Come away with me."

There was a lone bench beside them, gathering snow in the cold night. Draco let Harry lead him right past it.  



	4. Chapter 4

Moving almost unseeingly, Draco didn't realise where they were heading until Harry was pushing a familiar door open to the sounds of noisy chatter and the clinking of mugs and glasses. The gust of hot air startled him, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision.

They were at the Leaky.

Draco shot Harry an accusatory look. "Why did you bring me here?"

Harry flushed but continued to guide Draco towards one of the booths, not breaking a step. "You looked like you could use a drink."

"If I let myself indulge, I'd never stop," Draco retorted, stubbornly digging in his heels. Social drinking over dinner was one thing; drinking to forget was a slippery slope he refused to let himself go down.

Harry stilled, then nudged at him with a gentle pressure. "So no drinks, then. Just a talk."

Unwillingly curious at Harry's new calm, Draco allowed himself to be herded into the booth at one of the quieter corners. The Harry he had known would have gotten agitated, and Draco himself would have responded in kind. As it was, the only thing that gave a clue to Harry's feelings was the slight, pleased smile playing about his lips. Harry ordered a Butterbeer for himself. Draco tried to look preoccupied examining the new menu.

The Leaky. He hadn't set foot in there since the war. Too many memories of sneaking out of Hogwarts to share a Butterbeer with Harry, feeling that light-headed rush as Harry smiled at him, wide and giddy, and the warmth of Harry's knee pressed up against his as they sat too closely at a table for two.

"Malfoy," Harry was saying, and he forced himself to focus. "It's been almost a week since I saw you. I was worried at first, but the Welcome Witch told me you were still going to work every day. Which means you've just been avoiding me." He took a deep breath. "I need to know -- did I do something wrong?"

"Depends on who you ask, doesn't it?" Draco said carelessly, proud that his voice didn't tremble. "Interesting what different perspectives people can have of the same event."

Confusion shot through Harry's eyes, but his voice remained steady. "I'm asking you."

"Then, Potter -- the answer is yes."

There was a brief interruption as the waiter plonked Harry's drink onto the table, momentarily distracting them. It gave Draco just enough time to turn away and shakily try to control his emotions again.

"So what is it?"

"What?"

"What is it that I'm supposed to have done?" Harry's tone was neither accusatory nor angry. Just neutral, waiting.

It made Draco want to hit something.

"Where should I start?" Draco began, trembling with anger. "Oh, maybe two years ago would be right, around the time you began this... _farce_. Was it fun for you? To see how quickly you could get me to open my mouth and suck your cock?" Harry looked alarmed and frightened at the accusation, and something dark curled through Draco at the sight. So now Perfect Potter could deny it no longer. But then that meant that Draco couldn't either. 

He choked back a sob. "Did you laugh about it with all your friends afterward? How easy it was to get the Death Eater to spread his legs for you? I guess after that there was no need to keep in contact anymore, no need to bother replying my owls. Because your side got what it wanted, didn't it? It counted on me being" -- _in love with_ \-- "fooled by you, enough to do whatever it was you bloody wanted. To think I was so worried about you during the war -- "

"Malfoy!" Harry snapped, and now he was looking furious. _Good_ , Draco thought. _It would all end tonight_. "I need you to promise me you'll hear me out."

"Are you sure you want to trust a promise from a Death Eater?" Draco sneered. "Oh, wait -- or is this the kind of promise that is meant to be broken? You're so good at that, after all."

The hurt puppy-dog look Harry gave him was unexpected, but it rankled. What right did Harry have to look as though Draco had him some grievous wrong?

"Just ten minutes, Draco," and both Harry's pleading tone and the use of Draco's given name gave him pause. "I'll leave after that."

Draco drew out his wand. He was strangely gratified to see Harry flinch, but all Draco did was cast a modified Tempus charm before pocketing his wand again. An hourglass hung between the both of them, with grains of sand already beginning to slip through its narrow neck. Ten minutes. He could take it for ten minutes.

Casting an anxious look at the countdown and at Draco's impassive face, Harry hesitated briefly before reaching into his pocket and drawing out a silver pendant. It was a dragon, beautifully wrought. Between its forefeet, it clutched a single emerald green gem. A Truth gem. It had been given to Harry as a present for his protection. In a time filled with lies and uncertainty, the gem was meant to give clarity, because it could tell in any conversation when the person speaking was telling the truth and when they were lying. By extension, it could tell Harry who his friends were -- and his enemies.

Draco knew this, because he had been the one to give it to Harry.

"Well, that's convenient," Draco tried to say, but his throat was dry. He cleared his throat. "Do you make a habit of carrying it around everywhere you go?"

"The person who gave it to me told me he went to great pains to have it made for my protection." Harry had an inscrutable expression on his face. "He failed to mention that he was the one who painstakingly laboured over it day and night for two months until it was finished."

"I did no such thing," Draco whispered, but the gem heard the lie of it, and turned a murky red.

"Since I only have a few minutes to tell you how I feel, I thought I would rely on this to help convince you that what I'm about to say is true." Harry gave a rueful smile. "It's probably something I should have said very much earlier, but I didn't want to rush you into anything when we met again after so long." He took a deep breath, and continued. "The truth is, I didn't accidentally stumble across you at St Mungo's. I knew you were working there. I sought you out. No -- hear me out -- _not_ to investigate or keep tabs on you or anything like that, but because I received a letter. It was dated to the middle of the war." Harry's gaze on Draco was unflinching. "The letter was from you."

Harry's words were making him feel shaky and vulnerable, and Draco didn't like it at all. He fixed his eyes on the pendant instead. It remained a disgustingly clear green. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry wet his lips. 

"Malfoy. Did you ever wonder why things ended so abruptly between us during the war?"

Draco whipped his head up and regarded Harry fiercely. "They ended because you'd gotten what you wanted. You didn't need me to supply your side with information any longer, why should you have needed to carry on the charade?"

"What?" Harry recoiled. "No -- that wasn't it at all. Draco -- "

Draco didn't realise he was shaking until Harry placed a hand over his. He wrenched his hand away, and tucked both hands into his lap. Harry looked as though he'd been punched.

"You have another five minutes, Potter," Draco ground out, refusing to feel guilty.

Harry pulled himself together with visible effort, and reached for the dragon pendant like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. "I'll say my piece, as I promised. You have to know that I never intended to let things end between us the way they did. The truth is -- for the longest time, I believed you didn't love me anymore." Harry bit his lip, then continued. "The war was a hard time for all of us -- no, I'm not going to make excuses about it. But it was hard when you abruptly stopped owling the moment you went back to your father's Manor."

Draco stared at Harry. "What do you mean?" he blurted. "I never stopped writing. _You_ were the one who behaved like I'd dropped off the face of the earth, just because I had to obey my father's summons." He remembered it clearly -- his eagle owl winging its way out of his room every day, carrying its packages and envelopes, only to return empty handed. How his letters turned from concerned, to worried, to desperate, to determined, to resigned. 

Still, it became almost a ritual to pen down a letter to Harry at the end of every day, the familiar sensation of quill to parchment calming him down. No matter how shaky or torn apart he was feeling from the day's activities, he would write. Even when communication was cut off in the middle of the war, in the Great Blackout when the Floo Network and owls were stopped, Draco continued to write. He kept the scraps of parchment in a locked table at the Manor. After the war, he frequently wondered what had become of it -- the letters pouring out his heart and misery and hopes and fears to Harry.

The calm resignation had returned to Harry's face. "I realised that, when your father sent me all the letters you'd written to me during the war. Draco, I never received a single one. The same way you probably didn't receive mine." His lips quirked into a wry smile. "Lucius assured me he had been trying to protect you. From the angst of having to fight me, I would imagine. He was trying to cut your emotional losses early."

"My -- father sent you the letters I wrote?" Draco said shakily.

Harry looked away. "I figured he was hoping it'd help to convince me to protect you when he... was no longer around. I received them the day before he -- " Harry broke off. _Was Kissed,_ Draco's mind filled in silently. But inwardly he was reeling.

"He never needed to, though. I'd already been looking for you. Like a fool who couldn't stay away. Even when I thought you'd already moved on without me. I just never thought I'd find you in St Mungo's. If I had known, I would have come for you sooner. Even though I had no idea how you would receive me -- or whether you still felt the same as you did in those letters." Harry's eyes were earnest. The pendant never wavered from its brilliant green.

Draco fought the conflicting emotions within him. "But the rumours -- " he tried. "They said it was part of a mission. That you were only pretending. Was that a misunderstanding as well?" He couldn't stop the sudden surge of hope in his heart.

Harry's gaze faltered. "Draco, hear me out. It did start as a mission. But then -- I never expected myself to truly fall in love with you."

"And what if someone told you to go on another mission now? Would you fall for that person too?"

"That's hardly fair. You've got my heart, now."

Something hot was starting to burn inside Draco. The last few grains of sand sputtered through the hourglass, and dropped to the bottom.

"Draco Malfoy. I'm going to keep wooing you, unless you explicitly tell me to stop. All I ask is that you give me a chance -- give us a chance. There's a week left to Christmas. Draco... please," Harry breathed. "Let me love you.”


	5. Chapter 5

If he's honest with himself, Draco expects himself to capitulate much more slowly. 

Their romance feels like years ago (anything parsed by a war would probably have that kind of quality). Their time in Hogwarts, before the war, feels like a pleasant memory, pleasant, but distant: of snogs stolen in alcoves, furtive glances in the corridors and across the Great Hall, forbidden trips out into Hogsmeade, snowball fights, and that one last Quidditch match just before the news broke out of the fatal Death Eater attack on the Ministry. It feels like a story that happened to someone else.

So he's surprised at how strongly the emotions rush through him again. Feelings he thought were suppressed or forgotten -- it's like Harry's very presence is the key to unlocking them again. And unlock them Harry does, carefully and patiently.

The day after their conversation at the Leaky is surreal. Draco wakes up in his bed, too cold as usual, because the Warming charms in his apartment have worn off at some point in the night. 

He dresses, teeth chattering, pulling on his shoddy overcoat and gloves and blowing into his hands to warm them up. He picks at some of the loose threads on his coat; he'll need to look into replacing it soon. Draco wonders if he has enough Galleons to cover the purchase. Winter's started early this year, and he'll still need to last through a chilly spring.

Exiting his apartment, he almost swallows his tongue in shock when he bumps into a solid shape.

Harry pushes his glasses up his nose, and smiles apologetically. "Good morning, Draco."

"Morning," he stammers, because _Harry_ is at his door, and how did Harry even know where he lived, anyway? 

Harry fumbles with something he's carrying, and that's when he realises that Harry, dressed in his bright red Auror robes, is weighed down with an assortment of paper bags. 

"Did you go shopping before you came by?" Draco says stupidly, forgetting that it's probably around seven in the morning, and most shops don't open until nine.

"Well -- something like that," Harry mumbles, and if his hands were free, Draco thinks he'd probably be scratching his head sheepishly now. "Here! This is for you." Harry thrusts something long and green and woollen at him, and Draco takes it instinctively. It warms his cold fingers immediately. "It's a scarf," Harry says awkwardly, when Draco doesn't move.

"It's warm." Draco does not sigh the word.

Harry beams. "It's for you," he repeats. Then he shuffles his feet. "Are you going to St Mungo's? I thought I could Side-Along you, so that you don't need to walk there."

"I was going to take the Knight Bus." Harry's face falls, but Draco continues, "But I wouldn't mind arriving at work without bruises on my body for once."

Harry's smile is sudden and blinding.

~*~

It's still daylight when Draco leaves St Mungo's, unexpectedly early. The sunlight is wonderfully warm in spite of the chilly wind, and he turns his face upwards to catch the rays, a sigh on his breath.

It was a good day. He's escaped with relatively few bad-tempered patients; the cafeteria lady scooped an extra helping of mash for him, with the stern admonishment that he needed to eat more; Head Healer Weatherby even chased him off early for taking extra shifts the week before and "working too hard -- you've got to learn how to enjoy your Christmases, m'lad."

Thrusting his hand into his coat pocket, he draws out the brilliant green scarf, stroking it slightly and marveling again at how warm it is. Carefully, he winds Harry's present around his neck, and just manages to stop himself from visibly snuggling into it. It won't do if someone like Wendella the Welcome Witch catches him doing it; she's the biggest gossip in all of St Mungo's and he wouldn't be surprised if news of his new _amour_ makes it all around the hospital within an hour of his sighting. Still, he can't quite keep out the slight spring in his step.

It's early enough for Draco to decide to walk home for once. He makes his way down the cobblestoned street of Diagon Alley, passing shoppers doing their last minute shopping and brightly-lit shops with their wares attractively laid out in the window. Quality Quidditch Supplies even have a rotating broom exhibit where the brooms zoom in and out of the display window. Draco allows himself to watch for a moment, fascinated and slightly wistful as each new model of broom appears with details of its make and specifications. 

It's a luxury, not a necessity, he tells himself. He makes himself walk on.

The next shop he passes makes him pause for a much longer while. It's selling mince pies, warm and lovingly displayed in neat rows. Harry loves these, Draco remembers. Once, when they were stuck together in Hogwarts over Christmas, Harry had snuck a huge box of mince pies to one of their secret meetings at night. 

Already waiting at the Astronomy Tower, Draco had raised an eyebrow at Harry when he came in with the box. "They're from Mrs Weasley," Harry explained, flushing at Draco's expression. "They're really good." He then proceeded to eat most of the contents of the box. Draco had taken a mince pie of his own, shivering at the casual implication of Harry's actions. It was the first time either of them acknowledged that their accidental midnight meetings were not quite as accidental as they were pretending.

"Would you like a box of these, dear?" the shopkeeper says cheerfully, having noticed his interest. "They're on a special offer today. Usually a box goes for twelve Sickles, but they're just seven today."

Draco fingers the coins in his pocket. He can _just_ afford them. It might mean he'll go to bed a bit hungrier than usual -- but he thinks of Harry's delighted expression when he surprises him with them, and it's more than enough to convince him.

"I'll have one box, please."

~*~

"Ever thought of getting a tattoo?"

The question startles him. They're sitting together quietly on Draco's couch that evening, Draco's feet tucked up under him the way he likes best, and Harry comfortably sprawled on the other end.

Harry's surprised him with dinner tonight, and in return, Draco shyly drew out the box of mince pies he bought the day before. Harry had stared at them in disbelief, frozen in place. Suddenly afraid that he'd made a terrible mistake, Draco was about to stammer an excuse and Vanish the box altogether, but Harry lunged at them and stuffed one of them into his mouth immediately.

"It's wonderful," he told Draco.

Then he coughed slightly and Draco reached to pour a glass of water in fright. 

"No, it's not that," Harry said, though he accepted the water gratefully. "It's just that -- it's the first time you've given me something in years." His expression when he looks at Draco is overflowing with earnesty.

"A good number of those years was the war and its aftermath," Draco retorted, rattled at the force of Harry's reaction. "And they're just mince pies."

"They're delicious," Harry insisted, eyes bright. "Thank you."

An hour after dinner, Harry hesitated, clearly unwilling to outstay his welcome, but Draco couldn't bring himself to ask Harry to leave. Which is how they find themselves on Draco's couch with cups of coffee in their hands, talking quietly. Somehow, the topic has led to tattoos.

"Charlie came back with one of those magical tattoos that's been all the rage. His is a Hebridean Black -- and apparently, if his partner touches it, it will _breathe fire_. It doesn't do that for anyone else, though." Harry's clearly fascinated, and Draco can't help the smile stretching over his face.

"Ogling another man already?" Draco teases.

Harry shoots him a dirty look. "I dare you not to ogle at Charlie Weasley."

"Easy. I just need to look at his red hair." At Harry's confused expression, he clarifies, "It clashes terribly with my colouring."

"Is that so?" Harry says with a slow smirk. "It's a good thing I don't have red hair, then. We match much better."

Draco's breath hitches when he imagines Harry and himself pressed up against each other, black against blond, tan against pale, most definitely not clashing. He clears his throat and offers to get more coffee, beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Over lunch break at St Mungo's one day, Draco catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he's startled. He looks so happy. It's as though the scars in him have started to heal.

~*~

"Spanky! Get out of the Christmas decorations this instant!"

Draco feels a headache beginning at his temples. To his credit, Spanky obligingly emerges from under the Christmas tree, wearing only about half the Christmas decorations on his head.

"Spanky. Did you or did you not hear me saying that snuggling under the tree is not allowed? You have a perfectly serviceable bed of your own."

It figures that the guinea pig Harry gave him has a bit of Harry's personality. Spanky shifts belligerently from side to side, and for all intents and purposes, he looks like he's ready to nest in Draco's Christmas tree forever -- the tree that he and Harry put up together. Harry's idea, of course. Draco's apartment is more festive than it's ever been in years.

Spanky is Harry's contribution to Draco's social life. 

"If you're not going to go out, I'll just have to bring someone in," Harry had declared, and presented him with a ball of fluff which moved and got into things and liked to chew up Draco's rugs. In spite of that, Spanky has bumbled his way into his heart. Draco has an undeniably soft spot for that ball of fluff.

The clock chimes six o'clock. Draco disentangles the last bit of tinsel from Spanky and sets him safely in his cage.

Harry will be here any minute now. He smooths his hands nervously down the thighs of his trousers. He can hardly wait.

Right on cue, his doorbell rings. At the door, Harry is standing, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold. He surprises him with a bottle of champagne.

"You said you wouldn't drink if it was just to numb yourself from what was happening," Harry explains. "Here, we can share some of this after dinner. You wouldn't be drowning your sorrows. You'd be celebrating."

The bottle is turned slightly away from Draco, but he recognises the brand immediately, from too many nights entertaining guests at the Manor. It's an expensive brand, just this side of extravagant, and the gesture is just a little _too_ romantic. It leaves him somewhat breathless.

"And what's this occasion we're celebrating?" Draco jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Harry smiles but does not answer.

If someone had asked Draco a month ago what he would be doing on his Christmas vacation, he would probably have answered (assuming he didn't just bite their nose off or glare at them coldly), "Nothing much. Some spring cleaning, maybe. There's a pipe in my apartment that I've been needing to fix. I should also probably revise my notes from The Healer's Helpmate for Healers."

It just goes to show that sometimes, life has a way of turning out in a manner entirely different from what is imagined. And in some unexpected cases, it can even be for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aaand... Just the epilogue left. Thanks for coming with me on this ride :) There were picture prompts that I've left out in the reposting, but if anyone is interested in them, I can include them where mentioned in the fic. The last chapter will be posted tomorrow, on Christmas. Happy holidays, everyone!_


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but fluff and sap exists in this part. If you've made it this far: congratulations! Thanks for coming along for the ride :) 
> 
> Doing this advent challenge last year was so meaningful to me; it really forced me to write, and by the end of it I was really missing this verse. Looking at it again, I wish I'd added much more to it -- I'd hoped to do that this year, but I ended up juggling quite a few WIPs instead. Still, it's a closure for me and a last gift to the Harry Potter fandom :)

Christmas will arrive, quietly and unobtrusively, casting silent gold into the pitch dark sky.

As though by magic, Harry will start and wake. He will stare at the sky, and at the sleeping body beside him, and carefully sneak out of the room.

When Harry made his way back into Draco's life a year ago, he never expected that it could turn out anything like this. He had never dared to hope they could mend whatever they had between them. He would have been glad if Draco deigned to speak to him again. He would have been content to be Draco's friend. What he has been given is so much more.

Downstairs, Harry will make the preparations. The fireplace comes alive. The fairy lights start to dance. In the background, soft music begins to play. Spanky will be snuffling around in his cage; Harry will retrieve him and cast a protective bubble around him before he sets him on the floor. Draco will never admit it, but Harry knows how much he adores the little guinea pig.

As the smells of breakfast starts to pervade the house, Draco will shuffle to the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes, and slowly pad down to where Harry is frying the eggs. He will slip his arms around Harry's waist and tuck his head in the crook of Harry's neck.

"Morning," he will murmur into Harry's ear. "Inspired to cook today?"

"Go wash up," Harry will scold, spatula ready to flip the eggs. "Breakfast will be done in ten minutes." He will pretend that his heart isn't beating frantically in his chest.

He won't have to turn to see that Draco's started pouting, but he will obediently head to the bathroom, and the sound of running water will fill the air.

Harry will arrange the breakfast neatly on the table, and check once more to make sure that everything is in place. His heart will hammer all through breakfast. When Draco notices and asks if he's feeling well, he will deny it and feign nonchalance, taking a huge gulp of the orange juice in a bid to calm down.

At nine o'clock precisely, the clock will chime, and Spanky will waddle out of whichever hiding place he's found. This time, though, he will be carrying something on his back.

"Spanky!" Draco will exclaim, reaching automatically for his beloved guinea pig. He will pause, and a little frown will appear in between his eyebrows. "But what is that you're carrying?"

By now, Harry's heartbeat will be thundering in his ears. Draco tugs at the ribbon and releases Spanky of his burden -- a neat, dark, velvet box.

"Harry, what -- " His question will break off as he opens the box. Harry will see realisation dawn on his face and fling himself desperately to one knee before Draco.

His old knee will scream in protest, but Harry's eyes will be fixed on one person only. "Draco Malfoy," he will stammer, not at all smooth, not at all the way he practiced, "will you marry me?"

Draco will raise an eyebrow archly at Harry. "Using Spanky to propose? Am I supposed to be marrying Spanky, then?" But then he will see Harry's look of agony and take pity on him, laughing slightly. "Of course, Harry," he will say, breathlessly. "I'd be honoured to. Now get off the floor before you shatter your knee again."

There is one wish Harry has made consistently since he met Draco Malfoy again. _Please, let him let me love him again._

Now, Harry will look into the shining grey eyes of his fiancé, and he will give thanks for that second chance. And the millions of chances to love him every day, for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome here or [at Livejournal](http://slashedsilver.livejournal.com/24082.html) ♥ Merry Christmas!


End file.
